


hot chocolate coffee

by casualbird



Series: ukatake wk 2021 [5]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Living Together, M/M, Morning Sex, Pegging, Pet Names, Praise Kink, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, that's ok takeda still loves him, ukai is not a morning person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28656054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casualbird/pseuds/casualbird
Summary: “No fair,” Keishin mutters, “saying shit like that before seven AM. God, fuck, you know I can’t handle being gay before I’ve had my coffee.”“Better drink up, then,” lilts Ittetsu. “I’m not finished spoiling you yet.”There’s that blush Ittetsu so loves--the one that starts at his hairline, creeps all the way down past his neck. He knows, if he shifts aside the covers, he’ll see Keishin’s shoulders pinking up, his chest.It is Takeda's sacred mission to see that Ukai is well taken care of--no matter how early it is.
Relationships: Takeda Ittetsu/Ukai Keishin
Series: ukatake wk 2021 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2092188
Comments: 5
Kudos: 62





	hot chocolate coffee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [damny](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=damny).



The streets outside, in their dim winter-morning gloam, may as well not yet exist. Their little apartment might be all there is, with its thin flickering light, the soft rustle of footsteps, of skin against sheet.

It’s all the same to Ittetsu, shuffling back down the hall, a steaming cup of coffee in each hand. A tune on his lips, gentle and lilting, conscious of the way it fills the silence.

Almost as if he doesn’t want to wake Keishin--and truly, he doesn’t. Wants dearly to let him rest, muzzy-headed and grumbling as he is, half-conscious and clearly displeased about it. He huddles under the duvet, his blunt-nailed fingers and bleached-out hair the only indication that it’s him at all.

But of course it is. Ittetsu smiles, if he hasn’t been already.

He has. But it’s a thing that renews itself so often, when Keishin is around.

He sets their mugs down careful on the nightstand, lights on the edge of the bed. Warm fingers slip under the blanket, stroking rumpled hair, unshaven cheek.

“Good mooooorning, Keishin” he cooes, knowing that Keishin will only curl tighter around himself, ask him flinty if such a thing exists.

Keishin does, though it’s half-lost in a dazed little groan, muffled against a pillow as he nestles deeper into Ittetsu’s side of the bed, the waning warmth where he’d slept.

“I think so,” says Ittetsu, the way he always does. Keishin can’t see his face, his little purse-lipped smile, but if he could Ittetsu knows he’d be asking what he’s so damn smug for, what he knows that Keishin doesn’t.

Well. There is something. But that’s for later.

“If you sit up,” he says, “I’ll give you a kiss.”

“Mngph,” Keishin complains. Still, he does, rising with a languid twist to lean against the headboard. Blinks the sleep from his eyes, squinted as they are against the bedside lamp.

He never did put on pajamas last night; he was too far gone for it after Ittetsu got through with him. He’d left Keishin panting into the duvet, when he ducked out for the urgent errands of peeing and washing the strap, and when he’d come back he was _out._ Which is to say that he is naked, sleepy and sweatstained and beautifully mussed, tanned skin rosy in the first blushing of dawn.

Ittetsu grants him his kiss, then, as he is delighted to. He lays a peck on each cheek, a third in the crinkled space between his brows, and one, for good measure, on his lips.

When he’s satisfied that Keishin’s sorted, he reaches for one coffee cup, presses it soft into his hands. “Go on,” he murmurs, and Keishin responds with a grunted _yessir._ His face braces, just a little--truly powerful coffee is Ittetsu’s one vice. It’s been an adjustment for Keishin, he understands, switching over to this industrial-strength stuff from instant.

When he tastes it, though, he slackens. To Ittetsu’s mind it looks like approval, as he’d so hoped. Always, he wants Keishin to approve. Even if his coffee tastes could stand a little toughening up.

“What’d you put in this?”

Ittetsu just cocks his head happily, reaches for his own mug. Raises it, just a little, as if to toast their health. “Half a thing of hot cocoa,” he explains between sips, “I thought you deserved something nice.”

Keishin splutters a little, drinks up so he won’t have to speak. He’s darling like this, Ittetsu thinks, before he’s managed to conjure up his cool. Like the way Ittetsu squints when he hasn’t got his glasses. 

He tells him so, just to fluster him a little more. It works--he twitches, swallows hard.

“No fair,” Keishin mutters, “saying shit like that before seven AM. God, fuck, you know I can’t handle being gay before I’ve had my coffee.”

“Better drink up, then,” lilts Ittetsu. “I’m not finished spoiling you yet.”

There’s that blush Ittetsu so loves--the one that starts at his hairline, creeps all the way down past his neck. He knows, if he shifts aside the covers, he’ll see Keishin’s shoulders pinking up, his chest. 

“Practice is in. Like. Forty-five minutes.”

Ittetsu has never been one for chess, but he can figure that this is what it must feel like to have his opponent in check. He smiles, smug and sweet, motions to the little clock on their nightstand.

“Practice is in an hour,” he says. “What d’you think of my little scheme, Keishin? I changed the alarm last night, after you fell asleep on me.”

“I think you’re an evil genius.” His words are light, as close as Keishin ever gets to adoration. Ittetsu only cocks his head, reaches one small hand out to ruffle his hair. To stroke downward over his cheek, his throat, until fingertips catch against his bared collarbone.

“Oh, guilty, guilty. Should I have let you rest? I thought about it, after last night.” A soft little sigh--the same one he’d produced when he’d found him fast asleep, nearly drooling on the sheets. “Did I work you over too hard, hm?”

His tone is sweet, blithe. He knows the answer’s no. It isn’t hard to guess, even, from the way Keishin’s ankles locked around his back, the blunt fingernails that scrabbled at his shoulders. The full-throated cries in his ear, bidding him _c’mon, I need--baby put your **weight** into it!_

He asks anyway, just because he knows Keishin will blush. Will roll his eyes and grumble “naaaah, you’re good.” And he does, but that’s not all.

“I--I liked it,” he rasps, and it’s beautiful, and Ittetsu wants to kiss those cheeks again. Sets his mug down on the nightstand, eases Keishin’s from his hands.

Keishin doesn’t even fuss--just lets him, watches rapt with bleary eyes.

It’s such a sweet thing that Ittetsu can’t help but kiss the corner of his mouth instead. And then fully, deeply, tasting the coffee and the chocolate and morning on him, taking his chapped lip careful between teeth.

Shivering hands come to clutch at his bare sides, steepled fingertips sinking in the softness there. Keishin pulls him close until their bodies fall flush, until they’re flat against the bed, until his bare leg shuffles out from the covers to hook around Ittetsu’s thighs again.

“I know you did,” Ittetsu whispers, when there’s breath in him again. And then pauses, all sudden and staccato to kiss his face, his jaw, the tiny hollow underneath his ear. His neck, and there he gives him just a little scrape of teeth, just enough to make him shake.

Keishin does--he shakes. He whimpers, whips the covers aside until they’re skin to skin, until the soft press of Ittetsu’s body makes him sigh.

Ittetsu feels him, hard at an awkward angle on his thigh. Just the same as earlier, when Ittetsu woke to find Keishin’s body cleaving to his, hips twitching in his sleep.

“Oh,” he croons--it’s like rereading a favorite poem, to see Keishin like this. It never dilutes, never tarnishes, and Ittetsu’s sure it never will. “Look at you, look at you.”

Keishin huffs a laugh, all hoarse and tattered in his throat. “Fuck,” he mumbles, “look the fuck at _you,_ ‘Tetsu, oh it’s too early for this.”

A little smile, pressed into the salt-kissed skin of Keishin’s forehead. “Is it really?” he asks, soft and rhetorical and so close Keishin must feel every sound he makes.

“Nah. Nah. Jesus Christ, if you stop I’ll be useless all day.”

 _You’ll be useless all day if I don’t,_ Ittetsu thinks, raining impish kisses on his brow. On the crooked bridge of his nose, the apple of his cheek, his lips and his chin and his throat and Keishin cries out rough and heady when Ittetsu finds his clavicle, sucks firm on the mark he’d left last night.

His hands carry on, fingers trailing down his breastbone, past his obliques to his hips, and then the two of them wobble, fall aside. Ittetsu scarcely misses clunking his head against the wallboard, doesn’t care.

“There,” he croons, hitching up one sturdy thigh about his waist, palms skimming the curve of him. “Aren’t you lovely?”

Keishin always cows a little with that word. Ittetsu, though, is a man of many missions, and his best-beloved object is to make Keishin take praise in his stride, make him fully understand what wonders he deserves.

He kisses Keishin’s throat, feels his little sigh as much as hears it. Feels the flutter-kicking of his pulse, thrumming warm against his lips.

“I thought you might need taking care of,” he says, nuzzles the words into Keishin’s neck, makes him shiver. “I suppose I was right--but then I usually am.”

“Fuck,” huffs Keishin, and it makes Ittetsu laugh a little, makes him clutch their bodies that much closer. “Smug bastard.”

“Yes? Go on, Keishin, tell this smug bastard what you want.” He kisses him, a little, just to punctuate. “Anything you like.”

A little rumbling sound, a shift of hips against his own. “Fuck,” he says again, because he is never so eloquent as he is before seven in the morning. He is a dear thing, Ittetsu thinks, never so surly as he pretends. Even now, he’s shaking, rutting helplessly earnest against Ittetsu’s thigh--he presses back, permitting.

“Do whatever,” Keishin rasps, knowing fully well that it won’t fly. Ittetsu smiles soft when he amends himself, summons up whatever decisiveness he needs to say _go on, just get in me again._

Ittetsu hasn’t got the time to be coy about it--just cooes his approval, murmuring “that’s a love, good boy,” even as he shifts his weight back, cranes for the little bottle they left on the nightstand last night.

They are on deadline, after all. He slicks his fingers quick, apologizes that he hasn’t time to warm the lube proper, that it’ll be a little chilly.

Keishin swears, of course, that he doesn’t mind, but Ittetsu has to maintain a certain standard when he’s spoiling him, or else there is simply no point.

He waits as long as he can before settling up on his side, shifting down to reach for him. Keishin is gorgeous all laid out like this, thighs kicking apart, knees bowing, going pink. Ittetsu tells him so, while dripping fingers tease at the head of his cock.

Keishin shudders, from the touch or the chill or just the way Ittetsu croons to him, saying softly _there you are, that’s right, just let me._ From the fingers that slip between thickening thighs, the soft knuckle that presses his perineum, just for a second, just because Ittetsu knows it’ll make him whine.

“I’ll fucking die if we’re late to practice, ‘Tetsu,” he huffs, and Ittetsu laughs as warmly as hot-chocolate coffee, knowing just exactly what he means.

He’s careful anyway, when his fingertips come to stroke at Keishin’s entrance. He’s still soft there from last night, and the tenderness shows in the way he squirms, the little spasm in his hips.

“Are you too sensitive?” His wrist stills, steady, eyes flicking up to Keishin’s face. And Ittetsu listens, he really does, but the tension in his brow, his bitten lip--as soon as he’s sure that Keishin’s fine, he kisses him again, heavy and slow, gathering up all of his chipping little sounds.

Keishin reaches for him, clutches at his shoulder blades when that first fingertip slides in, presses past his minimal resistance. At his scarred-up chest, his softened waist, his hip. Ittetsu nestles closer to him, whispers praise into the corner of his mouth.

Calls him by his given name, slow and soft, serene even as Keishin’s shaking, bucking, bearing down against him.

“More” is the only response he gets, hoarse and heady. It’s all he needs--Ittetsu curls another finger in him, makes him quiver.

Makes his voice break--it’s all he can do, when those fingertips draw circles on his weak spot. All he can do to swear, to catch his breath and cling, cant his hips to have his ‘Tetsu deeper.

Ittetsu obliges him, of course, with a steady strength in his movements, a firmness that makes Keishin’s knees quiver so sweetly that Ittetsu’s nearly driven to distraction.

He won’t, though. He couldn’t, not for the world, not when the object of his focus is so precious beside him, under his hand.

“Fuck me,” Keishin whines, and then again, and then a third time but it breaks off on a cry when Ittetsu twists his two fingers just so, just the way Keishin’s always liked. He does it again, for good measure, feeling the muscle clench behind Keishin’s temple as he kisses it, soft and wide-mouthed and certain.

“Is that what you need, dear heart?” Ittetsu’s voice is saccharin, so close to Keishin’s skin that he can feel it, that he shivers when he nods. What a thing it is, to make him admit to wanting, needing anything. What a thrill, what a darling.

Ittetsu calls him that, _darling._ Just to rile him up a little, just to eke out one of his little sounds of protest, the kinds he makes when he’s too far gone to actually care.

He loves it, Ittetsu is fairly sure. And even if he doesn’t, it’s how he ought to be treated. What he ought to be called.

Keishin, he thinks, really ought to be properly cared for. What a thing it is, that they’ve made this home together, that Ittetsu _can._

“Alright,” he says, gentle as he slips his fingers out, shifts to slither off the bed. It’s a quick jaunt across a warm room to the toy drawer, but the gap feels yawing, cold. Keishin makes a disapproving noise, and Ittetsu really must agree. He finds the thing quickly--the smallest one, he’s conscious of the prep he’s been able to give him--and scrambles back over to the bed, fumbling the harness on all frantic.

He kisses Keishin’s face a dozen or so times, in apology. That he has to leave him even for a second, that he cannot do this on an endless time frame, a bed of roses, all the other things Keishin deserves.

He decides, though it was never in doubt, that he’s going to make the best fist he can of it anyway. There’s a half-twist in the harness, but it doesn’t matter, not with Keishin’s glazey eyes on him, the tense little purse in dry lips, he’s _perfect_ and Ittetsu tells him so.

A light laugh, then, still a bit hoarse. “Laying it on a little thick, huh?”

Ittetsu nods, snatching up a pillow and shuffling it soft under Keishin’s hips. “Oh yes,” he says, moving over Keishin, hemming him in with thighs around his hips. “I can’t turn it off, not when it comes to you.”

“Not when it comes to anything,” huffs Keishin, but his slick-lipped smile is brilliant, as softly aglow as Ittetsu’s reading lamp.

Ittetsu kisses his brow, nuzzles into straw-blond hair. “Nope,” he says, and it’s muffled, but Keishin must hear him by the way he laughs. “But you’re stuck with me, now.”

Well. He could leave. He always did say he was helping out on a trial basis. But after three years, two Nationals, a twelve-month lease with both their names on? With all his stuff in this apartment?

It seemed inexorable. Ittetsu wanted to make it inexorable.

“I’ll say I’m stuck with you,” Keishin sighs, reaching to splay one hand over Ittetsu’s chest, “if you don’t--uh--bang my brains out before we’re late for practice.”

And then Ittetsu doesn’t think about much of anything, because he’s giggling too hard, smiling too wide, listing forward to lay his forehead against Keishin’s own. Because those arms wrap so tightly around him, hold him so close, and for a second it’s all he can do to lay with him, to kiss his nose and say _alright, alright, alright._

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, finagling an arm down to line himself up, to tease the head of his cock where Keishin needs it. Just a little, there isn’t much time, but this isn’t the sort of impulse Ittetsu is much in the habit of resisting.

“I know,” Keishin breathes, in a tone that sounds like he’s rolling his eyes.

More than that, though, it sounds like he believes it, sounds like he _needs._ Ittetsu kisses his throat, his jaw, his mouth, catching the cry that spills from him as he presses tenderly inside. Just slightly, just enough to make sure he can handle it.

He scarcely can, from the rattle in his breath, his limbs. From the noise he makes, a little wincing thing that makes Ittetsu want to say damn it all, makes him want to root himself to this bed, this body beneath him.

Of course he can’t, and he wouldn’t. Doesn’t even care to, not really, not as wide-eyed as he is. But it’s all he needs right now, this little microcosm they’ve made for themselves.

Ittetsu kisses Keishin’s nose, the ridges of his cheekbones, his eyelids. Just gently, and he thrills with the feel of long lashes against his lips, clings tighter to him. Presses deeper, inasmuch as he can, and delights in Keishin’s gasp.

“Sweetheart,” he calls him, still nosing at his brow, still grinding his hips in tiny circles. Still basking, even though there’s scarcely time, even though deadlines and commitments and Keishin’s waning patience won’t allow it.

He’s so precious like this, Ittetsu thinks, keening so sweetly with the drag of Ittetsu’s cock inside him, slow across his weak spot. Grumbling in between, putting on annoyance where Ittetsu knows there’s nothing but surrender.

Keishin ought to be rewarded for it. For all of it--for giving himself over like this, for admitting wanting it at all. For being here, waking up every morning in this bed. It’s a marvel. Ittetsu could write poems about it, if he had anything like the presence of mind.

He doesn’t. All he can do is hold him, reach up to clasp his hand. Roll his hips, gentle for all the rough treatment he’d taken last night. All he can do is whisper to him, spilling words all over, babbling that he’s gorgeous, that he’s cherished, that he’s loved. That he’ll be spoiled whenever he wants it, that Ittetsu is helpless to do anything else.

Keishin is helpless too, useless for anything that isn’t clinging, squeezing thighs around Ittetsu’s hips. For anything that isn’t writhing up to him, wracking with his words, his steady softness. He breaks like that, whimpering, cleaving so tight that he trembles, and still there’s nothing Ittetsu can do but hold him, smooth him over and carry him through.

“Keishin,” Ittetsu murmurs, hushed like the first time he read Sappho. “Oh, lovely, there you go, give it to me.”

And he does, still shivering, still sighing all staccato, and it is a long time before they still.

The first weak sunshine dapples the surface of their dresser, the little trinkets scattered on it. Ittetsu flits up to check the clock--it’s time to go.

Nearly. He can give it another moment, let Keishin’s breathing settle. Roll off of him, and form to his side, and slip his fingers through mussed hair.

“Mnngph,” says Keishin, and Ittetsu thinks that sums it up quite nicely. He tells him so, words interspersed with tiny kisses.

Keishin kisses back, slack-mouthed and sleepy, mumbling, and he’s _perfect,_ he is the only thing that exists, except for all the other things that need tending to. It’s with a legitimate pang that Ittetsu presses the still-warm coffee cup back into his hands, bids him to drink up before they’re late.

And he does, and they’re not, and eventually the caffeine and the ambient teenage energy kick in. The ache fades, and Ittetsu only cows a little when a couple of the third-years shoot him knowing looks. Does not twitch even a little on the sidelines, when Keishin is so close and still untouchable, out of bounds.

He knows that night they’ll do it all again.

**Author's Note:**

> hello hello hello! i hope you're all doing super today, and i really hope you liked this! it took me a hot eternity to decide what to do with today's prompt, so i just ended up writing porn As Ever. still, i'm proud of how this came out--please do tell me what you thought of it!
> 
> also, if you feel like it, come hang out with me on [twitter,](https://twitter.com/bird_scribbles) i'm always looking for new hq friends!
> 
> have a great day and much love!  
> mye


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